“Okay, great? When?”
We exchanged a few LOLs because she lives in southern Indiana.
I live in central Florida.
“You drive eight hours, I’ll drive eight hours and we’ll meet in the middle.”
Next text from her, about an hour later?
“Does October 25th work for you?”
So, the last weekend in October we met in Atlanta for lunch at McDonald’s. She drove with her two daughters and my mom.
I flew. Come on! Some concesssions had to be made.
See, McDonalds has a history with my family.
We like McDonalds.
My older brother and I worked there in the ’70s.
It’s the place we stop on long road trips for potty breaks and Diet Coke.
As kids, the birthday person got McDonalds while everyone else had to eat Mom’s pseudo Micky Dee’s burger and fries.
When I traveled around the world in the ’80s, I tried to hit McDonald’s as a way of touching “home base.”
Venezuela. Guatemala. Spain. Australia. Mexico.
On those long trips away from home, McDonalds was my touch of family. Touch of home.
Saturday was our big McDonald’s day.
My nieces were less than thrilled. Why? They ate McDonald’s on the way down.
Note to sister….
But we had our McDonalds. Our fun. Our fellowship. Our whacky weekend.
It was a lot of money but we have another McDonald’s memory.
And we’ll make more.
What about you? Do you have a family memory associated with a restaurant or place?
She was recently named American Christian Fiction Writers Mentor of the Year.
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